


a Panoply of Song

by PersonalSpin



Series: a Panoply of Song [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff, Get Together, Light Angst, M/M, No story to speak of, Rated for swearing, Steve Has Issues, Tony Has Issues, not quite songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonalSpin/pseuds/PersonalSpin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Banning pop music from the tower would have been a not unreasonable decision at this point. If Tony was being honest with himself though, and he tried not to be, the bigger problem was probably the five superheroes that had followed him home one day and were now eating him out of house and home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is new stuff I wrote a while after I responded to the prompt on the kinkmeme, and it definitely got more Steve/Tony than the first part, which was strictly gen. Apologies if that turns you off reading; I am just that kind of incorrigible shipper, I couldn’t stop if I tried.
> 
> Eternal love and all my firstborns to my beta and cheerleader [Paige](http://archiveofourown.org/users/picapica).

They hadn't meant to show Steve any more music videos -- if one was being technical, they weren't really _allowed_ to. Phil had put the kibosh on any further attempts to drag Steve into 2012 via popular music when, after Gangnam Style, he and Tony had gotten into a shouting match. Tony had insisted it was a deep look into Korea's economic problems and Steve hadn't taken kindly to yet another round of _‘let's lie to the Captain about the future to see what he believes’_.

After that, the only thing Steve was allowed near was SHIELD-prescribed dockets -- page after page of dry, condensed history as Fury saw fit to impart it. Any lesser man would have been bored to tears -- Tony nearly was just watching him, and not because he felt guilty or anything (at least, not until he'd dug his way out of the paperwork).

It ended up happening anyway, and he wasn’t even a little surprised when it turned out to be Clint's fault, again. Just because the Quinjet had a radio didn't mean they were supposed to use it for that; Clint was never allowed in the cockpit ever again, _ever_.

Even if the look on Steve's face had almost been worth it.

“BUT YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO CUT ME OFF,” Clint had bellowed at the top of his lungs. Steve had lunged for his shield, frantically looking for the threat as he sprang to his feet. Tony had rolled his eyes from the pilot's chair; the only threat present was Clint's singing. At least he wasn't dancing.

“MAKE OUT IT LIKE IT NEVER HAPPENED AND THAT WE WERE NOTHING.”

“Clint, baby, if you felt that way you shoulda said something,” Tony said without missing a beat.

Clint flipped him off with a grin. “Eat my dick, Stark, you know as well as I do you hafta sing to Gotye.”

“Um, guys?” Steve said, lowering his shield when it became clear they weren't being attacked and nothing was exploding. “What--”

“What is this? Has the trickster bard Gotye enchanted Clinton?” Thor asked, twirling his hammer.

 “No, Thor, Clint just has appalling taste and the musical talent of congealed pudding,” Bruce said, massaging his temples -- Hulking out always gave him a headache, but asking the Avengers to be quiet post-mission, when they were all still high on adrenaline and victory, was like herding especially temperamental cats.

“Am I the only one not surprised by this?” Tony said, glancing over his shoulder. “Really, this is something we should've expected--”

“NOW YOU'RE JUST SOMEBODY THAT I USED TO KNOW.”

“Barton!” Steve barked, but Natasha beat him to it, leaning over the co-pilot's chair to smack Clint on the back of the head. He twisted around to give her a shit-eating grin, but she ignored him, looking at Tony instead.

“Turn it off. Experience has taught me that I'll give him a concussion before he stops. Coulson was very upset last time.”

Clint slouched in his chair and groused as Tony turned the radio off, but between Bruce mumbling a thank you and Thor rumbling that enchanted singing sounded like something Loki would do (like they needed to give him more ideas), Tony caught Steve's curious expression, and something that looked a little like determination.

***

They all somehow ended up gathered around the computer again, in much the same positions as last time, although this time Natasha kept shooting Clint warning glances and murmuring to Thor in an unnecessarily foreboding manner.

“What are you waiting for, a written invitation?” Clint asked, leaning over Tony's shoulder to play the video. Tony shoved him away, trying to get some of his space back, before sitting back and watching Steve. He counted down in his head, trying hard to keep the grin off his face.

Steve lasted ten seconds, but then, surprise nudity should probably count as cheating.

He sighed, glancing heavenward like it might grant him patience for this century, and muttered something that sounded a lot like “but _why_ is he naked?” He proved he was still watching at least when he made a confused noise and looked back down to frown at the screen. “I think there's something wrong with your computer, Tony.”

“ _What_.” Tony nearly gave himself whiplash jerking around. “Ah, no, that's--”

“BUT YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO CUT ME OFF.” Natasha clapped a hand over Clint's mouth, while Thor grabbed his legs, and together they carried him kicking and struggling from the room. Bruce looked after them with a smile kicking up the corner of his lips.

“I hope they don't kill him,” he said.

“It's supposed to do that,” Tony said, like the interruption hadn't happened. “It's stop-animation -- they had zoetropes back in the stone ages, right?”

It was Bruce that rolled his eyes at him. “Stop-motion is older than Cap, Tony -- he would have seen it before the war.”

Steve nodded, smiling even as his eyes went a little glassy. “Bucky made us sneak in to watch King Kong a whole bunch of times.”

“Lemme guess, Fay Wray?”

Steve ducked his head. “Maybe for Bucky,” he said, smiling sheepishly. He was quiet for a moment, fidgeting with his hands. “I guess I just thought that nowadays, you know, with all the fancy computers, nobody'd still be doing something so... old-fashioned.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows at Tony, who grimaced and shrugged minutely. Bruce rolled his eyes again and gestured at Cap, who'd sunken into his melancholy and didn't even notice the silent exchange happening over his head.

Tony bit his lip, thinking his next words through as carefully as he could, given that it wasn’t his greatest skill. “It's... not really used anymore.” Steve nodded slowly, and Tony hurried to clarify. “But it's still a thing, it's still around, people still use it. It wasn't just thrown away because there was something new and shiny available. Sometimes people _like_ a little old-fashioned.”

Steve looked up again, and his smile was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. Tony was helpless not to smile back, flicking his eyes up to the ceiling. “Hey JARVIS, remind me to show Steve some stop-animation. The good stuff.”

“Might I recommend the works of Aardman?”

Tony squinted in thought. “The old English guy with the mute dog?”

“I believe a more accurate summary would be an eccentric inventor and his long suffering caretaker.”

“Might be a bit close to home,” Bruce said, and when Tony craned his neck around to squint at him instead, he shrugged, straight face ruined by the way the corner of his mouth was twitching.

“I taught myself how to do it.” Tony rolled his head back around to look at Steve. “It was just little flip books, during the war.” Steve laughed, blushing a little. “Bucky always made me draw the absolute worst. Said it was my duty as Captain, to 'keep the moral up.'“

“Ah,” Tony said in a tone of great understanding and nodded sagely. “A man after my own heart. I've still got some books I did in MIT. I'll show you them sometime, we can compare who had the filthier imagination.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning – he’d been doing more of that lately, _smiling_ , and looking a lot less like he was just tolerating Tony being Tony. And then he looked over at the computer again.

 “Tony,” he hissed, looking away and trying to make it look like it was because he had to glare at Tony and not because Kimbra had just come on for her guest verse. The fact that his blush was staining his throat and ears a fetching shade of pink sort of gave him away. “Why is there someone _else_ singing now covered in nothing but paint?”

“C'mon, you can't even see anything,” Tony said, not doing a whole lot to hide his grin. “There will be no nipples, promise.”

“Please just tell me when she leaves,” Steve said, sounding strangled and, if anything, going redder.

“She doesn't,” Bruce said, not at all smugly, and Steve groaned.

“I feel like I should be buying someone dinner after this,” he mumbled.

Tony barked a laugh so suddenly it startled him, and Bruce quirked an eyebrow at him because yeah, he sounded a little crazy.

Clint ducked back into the room, covering his head as he was chased by something very sharp moving very quickly, which scored a line down his arm and embedded itself in the wall. Thor's thunderous laughter preceded him, and Thor threw himself into the chair he'd vacated while Clint went back to crouching on the end of the sofa like an oversized pigeon.

“I take it Natasha made it clear there was to be no more singing?” Bruce said, smiling faintly.

“Yeah, but the death threats were worth it when Thor offered to teach me some Norse drinking songs because I have, quote, 'a voice worthy of the odes of Valhalla', end quote. Next party we have is going to be awesome.” Thor clapped a hand to his shoulder, booming his agreement and nearly bowling him over. Clint resettled himself, only to lean forward with a vicious grin. “Oh hey, this is my favourite part. Kimbra takes no shit and no prisoners. She _makes_ this song.”

 “She only sings for thirty seconds,” Bruce said, quirking an eyebrow.

“That’s thirty seconds free of Gotye’s whining. I’d already be rooting for her, but then she goes for the throat and doesn’t give a fuck, and you’re telling me you _wouldn’t_ side with her?”

“I side with both?” Tony rolled his shoulders with a thoughtful expression. “Bullshit cop-out aside, I've had bad break-ups before, more than a couple. Not that I have records, or have ever had to change my number, that's what I have JARVIS for, but you know -- _spiritually_ \-- I've been there and done that. Getting cut off hurts like a bitch though.” Tony shrugged. “Guess I'll have to settle for being the responsible adult here and say I see both sides.”

Clint booed and hissed, Bruce nodded in agreement, while Thor leaned forwards to clap Tony on the shoulder.

“My sympathies. Spurned lovers can be...” Thor paused to search for the word, bushy blond eyebrows drawing together. “Hard.”

“Sounds like you got a story there, big guy,” Clint said, leaning over to rest his forearms on Thor's broad back. “You wanna get drunk sometime and tell me about it? Tasha's a great listener when she's half-way through a bottle of vodka, it'll be great, therapeutic-like even.”

“I will take you up on that, I think,” Thor said, dropping the serious expression to break into an enormous grin and almost sending Clint flying again when he sat up straight. “It is a tale best told without the use of most of one's faculties.”

“I volunteer the use of my liquor cabinet,” Tony said, “and hey Cap, we can finally test to see if 21st-century booze can get you drunk--” Tony stopped when he saw how heavily Steve was scowling -- not at the screen, not at Thor or Clint planning a party that would probably end with Tony needing to call in builders, _again_ , but at _him_. He hunched his shoulders and scowled back a little. “What?”

“You should be more careful about who you date.”

Tony spread his hands and smirked, ignoring the way it didn't quite measure up to his usual 1000-megawatt grin. “Hey, Cap, if you're offering?” Steve's scowl barely flickered; Tony sighed. “In that case, I'll have to make do with the rest of humanity, some of whom aren't the paragons of good dating etiquette Captain America no doubt is.” He paused. “Not all of them can be like Pepper and want to stick around either.”

“Tony, that’s not--”

“OK, I think it's time to wrap this up,” Bruce said, reaching between the two of them and closing the browser where the music video had finished without anyone noticing. “Thor and Clint have alcohol to procure, and I really would suggest you, ah, _ask_ Natasha if you can use her stash this time. Unless you, uh, want to steal it, but I refuse to stitch you up because you're too embarrassed to go to SHIELD medical. Again.”

Tony stood up and stretched, looking just about anywhere that wasn't Steve. “So hey, this was fun, we should do it again sometime. We can even call it a bonding experience, Fury eats that shit up.” He started towards the door and the fastest path to the elevator, very consciously not running. “Gonna have to buzz-kill and bow out of any drinking though, I got more paperwork to slog through and Pepper nearly skinned me the last time I signed drunk.”

A gentle hand curled around his bicep, not so much stopping him as the concern Tony could feel radiating out off it in lethal doses. “Tony,” Bruce said quietly, “please don’t do what you’re doing.”

Tony was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, Bruce,” he said, and the hand fell away. “Enjoy my booze, JARVIS will direct you to it, but I'll be in my workshop being a slave to The Man for the foreseeable future.”

“Wait,” Steve said again, but Tony was already half-way out the door.

“Rain check, Cap,” he said as he left.

He tried not to think too hard about whatever stopped Steve from coming after him, whether it was Bruce explaining that cornering Tony was about the worst way to get him to be honest, or that he was smart enough to let him go. Hell, maybe he just didn’t care enough to elaborate further. He’d already made it pretty clear Tony’s string of failed relationships were his fault; he hadn’t been _careful_.

The elevator doors closed as soon as he slipped inside and started to descend without him saying a word. Tony closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “Full lockdown on the workshop. No one in or out until I say so.”

“Yes, Sir.” If there was a pause before his AI responded, well, he didn’t think too hard about that either.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my retaliation for Matt Fraction writing Clint as a human train wreck determined to ruin every relationship he’s ever even thought of.

Banning pop music from the tower wouldn’t have been unreasonable at this point. Or Tony thought so anyway, two days into his self-imposed challenge to see if he could improve every piece of equipment the Avengers used and owned without stopping. If he was being honest with himself though, and he tried hard not to be, the bigger problem was probably the five superheroes that had followed him home one day and were now eating him out of house and home (Tony was a billionaire, but Thor was, well, _Thor_ ).

Banning the Avengers was never going to happen, not at this point, with their floors almost finished and Tony’s lawyers _this_ close to securing the copyright. Avengers Tower had a far nicer ring to it, and he’d hate to let such an opportunity slip passed. So that was his excuse and he was sticking to it, although he did casually start coding JARVIS to combust any computer or TV should the need arise.

It was when ‘equipment owned and used’ became ‘roller skates for the armour’ that Tony thought that maybe, before he decided who or what to ban and/or explode, a better decision might be food before passing out on the nearest flat surface. He’d gone longer without sleep or solids or sunlight, but he was trying to look after himself these days. Mostly.

Tony reconsidered almost immediately, once he finally stumbled into his kitchen. Clint was already there, and sporting a spectacular case of bed hair, making pancakes and humming along to the radio like he already owned the place. Tony didn’t know which he was more irritated by; that Clint had spent the night in his tower, or that he’d brought his _junk_ with him _,_ his outmoded, outclassed little dial radio that JARVIS couldn’t commandeer and detonate at will.

“What are you doing?” Tony asked, not feeling able to be more articulate with the sun shining quite so obnoxiously in his face. He shaded his eyes and squinted at Clint in a way he hoped looked more like irritation than a severe aversion to harsh light.

“Makin’ bacon pancakes,” Clint said, entirely too cheerfully and grinning like he’d just made a joke. “Natasha will be down in about an hour, so don’t eat the yogurt in the fridge. Bruce already came and left, and Thor’s got business in Asgard.” He shrugged. “Apparently being a Royal Prince and running a country -- realm, dimension, what-the-fuck-ever -- is hard work. Who knew.”

There were many things wrong with that sentence – Tony’s brain, tired and surprised into conversation, latched onto one. “What about Steve?” He cringed immediately, though he tried to hide it by walking towards the coffee machine. Clint kept watching him though, craning his neck around to follow him across the kitchen; Tony would’ve snapped that his bacon pancakes were burning but he somehow managed to keep turning them without looking. Weirdo.

“I mean,” Tony said, hiding his face by pretending he couldn’t operate the coffee machine in his sleep, “why isn’t he traipsing through my kitchen too?”

“Because Steve doesn’t live here. Duh.”

Tony gave him a dirty look. “None of you live here. _I_ don’t even technically live here, I just work here; Malibu is home.” Or it had been. He hadn’t been back since Pepper had flown out two months ago.

“Course you don’t live here, it’s only your name on the side of the building,” Clint said. Tony ignored him, instead choosing to stare at his own face blinking owlishly back at him from within the polished chrome. He probably shouldn’t be having coffee, not on an empty stomach and minutes away from finding somewhere soft to fall down, but he could smell it already and his mouth was watering. Two days was too long with only cold, bitter coffee and the safety hazard in the blender cup Dummy liked to try and feed him.

And besides, the smell of Clint’s breakfast was making him nauseous.

“I don’t think Cap is even in the country right now.”

“Huh?” Tony said, blinking rapidly as he came back to the present. “What? Why? I mean —“

“Fury kidnapped him, something about needing help running an op.” Clint was trying for casual – and missing entirely – and Tony squinted at him in suspicion. “I think he was pretty happy to go, actually – must be nice using his big supersolider brain for something other than waiting for your reclusive ass to crawl out of your workshop.”

“I was working,” Tony snapped, abandoning his staring competition with his reflection to rifle through the cupboards, opening them with more force than was strictly called for. “Upgrading _your_ gear, you ingrate. I hope you’re happy getting coal in your stocking this year instead of those really awesome exploding arrows I made.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it these days?” Clint said, keeping up with his careful casualness.

“Yes,” Tony said, slamming his favourite mug down on the counter for emphasis, having finally found it lurking near the back. He wasn’t sure what he’d just agreed to but he felt pretty pleased with himself as he sat down at the kitchen table, cradling his coffee to his chest.

“Because I’d call it sulking because Cap didn’t accept your flower.” Clint slid a plate in front of him – Tony couldn’t be sure, but he thought it actually was slices of bacon inside pancakes. He poked at them sceptically, pulling a face.

“Of course you would, Barton. You’re about as smooth as a bag of rocks.” Tony speared a piece of bacon pancake on his fork and ate it, and when he didn’t immediately spit it out, shrugged and started shovelling the rest into his face. “To a jumped-up carnie like yourself, that probably looked like A game material.”

“I’ll bet I’m a hell of a lot smoother than bringing up my many exes, getting defensive, and asking someone out to make a point. Before running away because Steve didn’t immediately jump at the chance to take me to the prom.” Clint turned back to the stove and laid down some more bacon strips. “And I’d win that bet.”

“I resent that,” Tony said, pointing his fork at him. “I was not crying and writing on my blog about what an asshole Cap is, I was working. _Hard_. This is what hard work looks like.”

Clint looked over his shoulder at him. “You think he’s an asshole?”

“I –“ Tony scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Yeah, a little? I mean, you saw his sanctimonious face—“

“That wasn’t his sanctimonious face, that was his _‘the future’s batshit’_ face.”

“It’s _‘the future is strange’_ , and _no_ , it wasn’t. I would’ve recognised that face, it is a very distinctive face, with the—“ he gestured towards his own, thinking of the little wrinkle Steve got between his eyebrows when the future confused him. Which it still did. A lot. “And that wasn’t it.”

“This isn’t about his face, Stark, and don’t try to bullshit me that it is. You didn’t run away to your workshop for two days because of his _face_ ,” Clint said. Tony bristled and almost started to tell him just how wrong a person could be, and how he had managed to surpass that in how wrong he now was. His teeth clacked together, cutting off his retort before he could even get going, because this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have this early in the morning whilst eating bacon pancakes.

Clint rolled his eyes but said nothing. There was a lull in the conversation, as Clint went back to making his own breakfast and Tony stared at the woodgrain next to his plate. The radio was still on, and a sugary sweet pop song attempted to drown out the sizzle of bacon cooking and Clint’s off-key humming. Tony grimaced, because he was really _very_ off-key.

“Could you not? I already feel like I’ve been hit by a bus without listening to you.”

“I’m gonna keep doing it until you tell me what I want to know,” Clint sang, in the loosest approximation of a tune Tony thought he could manage, so it was pretty bad. Worse though was that he turned the radio _up_. “Besides, it’s Kesha, I thought you’d appreciate her giant IQ.”

“She sounds like a robot,” Tony definitely did not whine.

“It’s like she’s you, but you know, a girl and more fun to have at a party. _She_ wouldn’t bail to do paperwork and sulk.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but Clint didn’t take the hint. He was encouraged, if anything, and his humming became singing, a terrible, horrible impression of Kesha, and he started to shake his hips to the beat. It was about the only thing that _was_ in time to the music, but Clint had a maniacal glint in his eye that said he was doing it on purpose. Tony had a moment to wonder whether he’d picked up this particular brand of torture in the field or if it was something SHIELD taught all its agents. Either way, it worked.

“I should’ve been _careful_ ,” Tony muttered to the table, but Clint responded anyway, turning the radio back down to a comfortable background hum.

“Fucking finally. Hey.” He sounded like he was talking to something small and furry that had to be coaxed out of hiding. Tony lifted his head to look at him, because there was a beat where it became clear Clint wasn’t going to continue until he got some eye contact. He didn’t make an effort to look pleased though that this really was conversation he was going to have right now.

“Look, Tony,” he said, putting down his spatula to pour pancake batter onto his bacon strips. “I don’t know what was going through Cap’s head when he said that, take it up with him when he gets back from wherever Fury’s taken him. But Steve is a pretty good guy, you know? He’s good, and he makes people want to do better just by being around him. However you took it, it’s probably not how he meant it, because he’s not that sorta guy. And it’d be, I don’t know, not unreasonable to let him explain himself. Or apologise, whatever you’re looking for. But that’s just me, I’m not your fucking boss.”

“Course you aren’t,” Tony said, ducking his head back down and disguising it by shoving more food into his mouth. “There’s only one genius in this room, and he isn’t you.”

“Then I wish you’d act like your IQ meant a damn, instead of like someone who collects doctorates because his walls are cold.” Tony snorted, and Clint picked up his spatula again so he could level it at him. “You wanna know why his face was all weird? Because you confuse him, Stark.”

“You’re missing the point here, Barton,” Tony said, quirking an eyebrow. “I thought this wasn’t about his face.”

“I don’t defend what he said, I don’t live in his head, but I know what I saw on his face.” Tony opened his mouth, this time determined to demonstrate how wrong Clint continued to be. Clint cut him off by waving the spatula at him, which shouldn’t have been nearly so threatening as it was. “Lemme finish before you try and feed me more shit. What I saw, and heard, was you talking about your bad break-ups and Steve’s reaction to that. I have Google and have not been on ice for the last couple decades, but more importantly, I know how dating works in 2012. I really doubt Fury included that somewhere in those dockets. I _hope_ not.”

Clint tipped his bacon pancakes onto a plate and immediately picked one up, bobbling it as he burned his fingers before managing to bite into it. He made a pleased noise in his throat, or maybe he moaned because he’d burned his tongue like an idiot. “But, and I’m taking a stab in the dark here,” he said with his mouth full, “I’m guessing dating in the 1940s had a lot less in common with an ambush than your technique did the other day.”

“There you go again. Thinking I was serious when you said it yourself, I did it to make a point,” Tony said, letting his lip curl. “If I had wanted to ask Cap out, I would’ve done a hell of a lot better than that, trust me.”

“Even if I believed you had any idea what kinda point you were making – _which I don’t_ – what I saw looked like you were hitting self-destruct on a relationship before it could even happen.” Clint picked up another bacon pancake and gestured with it, grease flying everywhere. “Either that, or you wanted to confuse the poor guy some more by acting disappointed by his answer.”

“He didn’t answer me, that was silence, that was a _non-answer_. That’s –“ Tony snapped his mouth shut, because where the hell had that come from?He hadn’t meant to say that, whatever that was. _That’s the problem,_ his brain supplied the rest of the sentence, which wasn’t even a little helpful. That wasn’t, that wasn’t even relevant to the matter at hand, that was completely off-topic. Why would that even be a problem?

Clint looked at him for a long moment, and Tony could feel his eyes roving all over him. “Oh man, a pre-emptive break-up you didn’t even know you were doing. That’s sad, that really is.” He chewed on his breakfast, looking like he expected Tony to argue back, but he was at a loss. Tony’d like to tell him he was full of shit, but that sounded like a lie in his head.

“I think you’re full of shit,” he muttered, because it’d never stopped him before.

“You want my advice?”

“If I said no, would it stop you?” Tony sniped.

“Not in the least. Let Steve apologise, or whatever, and then if you still wanna, you can show off some of that A game.” Clint rolled his eyes at whatever face Tony had just pulled; it felt like a mixture of confusion and sleep-deprivation, but he couldn’t be sure. “Ask Cap out _properly_ and let him answer properly. That means you let him know you’re serious and then letting him make up his own damn mind. Because it looks like what you want is a real answer.”

“I changed my mind, I _know_ you’re full of shit.” Tony pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “I have to go collapse in a bed now, and hopefully when I wake up I won’t even remember this conversation.”

“I doubt you’ll be that lucky,” Clint said, twisting his head around when the radio caught his attention again. “Oh look, it’s Kesha, singing your theme song.” He grinned as he turned up the volume once more. “ _Stephen_ , _Steeephen. Why won’t you call me?”_

“I’m definitely leaving if you’re gonna start singing again,” Tony said.

“You should probably call Steve and give him some warning, so you _don’t_ ambush him. Hey,” he yelled to Tony’s retreating back, “what about your coffee?”

“Fuck it,” he yelled back, “it’s gone cold anyway.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, Steve, it’s Tony. How’re you enjoying your kidnapping? Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to take ops from scary men in Helicarriers? And whatever Fury says, you aren’t SHIELD property, that was a Stark expedition that found you, so, technically, I own you. Er, shit… Whatever, I’m calling because I -- I thought I should call. I mean, I thought I should because I need to talk to you. Want. I’d _like_ to talk to you. So… call me back when you get the chance? OK, bye.

“…

“How was that one, JARVIS?”

“Would you prefer honesty, Sir?”

“Shit, yeah, that was a train wreck, you don’t have to tell me. Delete it, prepare another. I hafta get this _right_.”

“There are currently eighteen deleted messages addressed to Captain Rogers… Sir, mightn’t discretion be the better part of valour? You have currently been awake for twenty-three hours and seven minutes, and have yet to consume anything more substantial than coffee and a single toasted bagel. His mission reports suggest he won’t return to New York for several more days; perhaps you should—”

“Please – just -- bring up the schematics for the Mark IX, will ya? Maybe I can work out the problem with the lag in the firing mechanism while I’m trying to sort out… this. Whatever this is.”

“… Of course, Sir.”

***

True to his word, Tony passed out after his talk with Clint, though he didn’t manage to forget it. Ignoring it served him just as well, as he set about the unpleasant task of rolling out of bed and crawling into the kitchen so he could make his own damn food. Thankfully the kitchen was empty this time, although the dial radio was still on the counter where Barton had left it.

Tony ate alone and in silence – apparently every other Avenger had pressing business. JARVIS’s reminder that he had a meeting in an hour was not unwelcome, considering that he’d had every intention of skipping out on it, as his workshop suddenly seemed very large and very empty.

Tony ended up spending a productive and painfully dull day signing paperwork and taking conference calls, which in no way involved daydreaming about someone walking in with good New York pizza and a question about the 21st century that could only be answered by watching terrible daytime TV. When five o’clock ticked by and Tony remembered why he didn’t like doing desk work (his back ached like a bitch and it made him feel _old_ ) he headed down to the gym to work out some of the kinks, proud that he hadn’t spared a single thought for Steve all day.

Clint had taken one look at him – from his position on the mats in a vicious-looking headlock -- and laughed himself hoarse. Natasha had looked tempted to let the idiot choke but eventually let him go before he could do himself permanent damage. Only, as soon as Clint had gotten his breath back, he’d started to _sing._

“ _Stephen_. _Steeephen.”_

“I swear to God, Barton, I am not catching you the next time you take a dive off a building.”

“Jokes on you, Bruce still loves me. _Stephen, why won’t you call meeee?”_

“You should stop kicking him in the head so much, Natasha, it’s obviously impairing his ability to make rational, logical assumptions that are within the realms of reality. And to not be an asshat.”

“He’s always an asshat, he just hides it better sometimes,” she’d said, before kicking Clint in the ribs and cursing in Russian when it looked like he was preparing to belt out more Kesha. Tony took the opportunity to escape -- because he couldn’t take anymore of Clint’s singing, _not_ because he’d been ran out of his own gym.

Clint was delusional, clearly, but Tony would be damned before he let him think he was _right_. Tony was not pining for Steve, and if that meant he had to call Steve and talk to him like an adult, then so be it.

Three days later, Tony had more deleted messages than he cared to admit to and every one of them was an clumsy, stuttering mess; he hadn’t so much admitted defeat as started to hope for a miracle. There’d been no word from Steve, besides what Tony and JARVIS could glean from his sporadic mission reports, and the longer Tony was left to his own thoughts the more tempting his liquor cabinet began to look. He would’ve buried himself in his work (revolutionising the tech industry in time for lunch was his usual tactic when it came to emotions) but he _couldn’t_.

That damned Kesha song was stuck in his head and he couldn’t make it _leave_.

It’d started when he’d caught himself humming. He’d cursed Clint and everything he chose to be, and had JARVIS pull up the schematics for his arrows. Hopefully the practicalities of making dummy arrows that exploded into a mess of tar and feathers would drown out the little earworm, and if that didn’t do it, turning up his music loud enough to shake the windows probably would.

And it did work. For about an hour, when he realised he was bopping along to a beat that didn’t bear much resemblance to _Back in Black_.

“Fuck it,” Tony muttered to himself, loading Youtube as he abandoned doing anything productive whilst that song was playing itself on repeat in his head. He hit _play_ fully intending to go back to his own music once he’d gotten it over with and out of his system, but on the third listen, Tony decided that the song wasn’t that bad. By the seventh he was getting into it, joining in at the chorus and swaying along. There was nobody there but the robots and JARVIS to see anyway, and it was not the worst thing they’d ever seen him doing.

He’d stopped counting after an hour, and by that point they even had a routine worked out. Because if he was going to do this, he might as well do it right.

_“I've got guys waiting in a line for me to play my evil girly games with all their minds!”_ Tony sang, his wrench pulling double shifts as a microphone and his robots following behind him in single file. Dummy and You were nodding along to the music, or trying to; they were both off by half a second either way, and it’s a wonder they hadn’t hit each other and broken something.

_“Just bat my eyes, like this, and there's a broken heart.”_ Tony turned, fluttering his eyelashes at Butterfingers before shooting him with finger guns. The robot flailed wildly, right on cue, but sent the screwdriver he’d been holding flying across the room. He raced after it, whirring loudly and knocking into the workbench in his excitement.

“Sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion, seriously, that’s the fourth time this has happened,” Tony called after him, leaving him to it as he worked himself up for the chorus. “ _Stephen, why won't you call me? I’m sitting here waiting. Why won’t y--”_

“Sir,” JARVIS said, cutting Kesha off abruptly and startling Tony into silence. His AI had politely declined to join in the madness, and since JARVIS couldn’t change the music without Tony’s permission, he’d been quiet for hours. Tony thought he was attempting passive resistance, and judging by his tone he’d passed aggravated a while ago and was now well into the truly exasperated.

“Yeah, J?” Tony asked, twirling his wrench between his fingers. The robots gathered around him, bobbing their heads in confusion, and he reached out to stroke his fingers along one of their support struts. “I hope this is important, you know what happens when you throw off my groove.”

“I thought you would like to know that Captain Rogers is back in New York.”

“Shit!” Tony yelped. He dropped the wrench against the concrete with a loud clang and the robots took off like a flock of startled pigeons, chirring in panic. “Fucking _fuck_! What’s his ETA for the tower?”

“Ten minutes ago.” And now JARVIS just sounded _smug_. Tony swore viciously, whirling around and thinking frantically about how in the hell he was going to face Steve, and if maybe disappearing to California for the next week was an acceptable way of dealing with this.

Except he was already there. _There_ , in the workshop, smiling sheepishly and raising a hand to give a little wave. “Hi,” Steve said, and Tony’s mind went completely blank.

“Uh,” he said. “Hi?

 There was a pause, a long, awkward pause, where the two of them just stared at each other. At some point, Steve must have realised his hand was still hovering by his shoulder and shoved it into his pocket. He must have come straight down, Tony thought; he was still wearing his combat fatigues, and when Tony leaned over to look behind him, there was a duffle bag sitting outside his workshop with Steve’s shield resting on top.

Typical. Fury dragged Steve away to stare at a map and give orders to a bunch of SHIELD peons, and he brought along his over-sized frisbee. There was no reason why Tony should find that as endearing as he did.

“Uh, thanks?” Steve said, blinking slowly.

“Fuck, I meant to say, why are you down here? Shouldn’t you be—? You know--?“ Tony flapped his hand at Steve, trying to indicate how much he looked like he needed a hot shower, a change of clothes, and somewhere to pass out for the next few days.

“Yeah,” Steve said, running a hand through his hair and grimacing as the sweat and grime made it stand up in stiff spikes. Tony snickered, oddly struck by the urge to pat the little spikes back into place. “I meant to, but JARVIS said you were calling me? He made it sound like an emergency.” He trailed off at the end, looking around at the workshop where for once nothing was exploding, imploding, or on fire.

“I – I had been calling you. Called. I tried to call, but I wasn’t just now, what–“

“Actually, Sir,” JARVIS cut in, “by my count, you have called Captain Rogers 272 times in the last hour.”

“That’s—“ Tony snapped before he stopped and did some calculations. It wasn’t long before he was storming over to his workbench, leaving Steve where he was in favour of yelling at his AI. “JARVIS! New project! I’m turning my errant AI into a lamp!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“An _ugly_ one!”

“Of course, Sir.”

Tony let himself fume for a moment, hoping that Steve would turn around and leave but listening to him walking up behind him. “I take it there isn’t an emergency then?” Steve said a little sardonically.

“No, Steve, there is not,” Tony said through gritted teeth, not looking at him because staring at the far wall was easier. “JARVIS thinks he’s being funny. We’ll see how funny he is when he’s wearing a lampshade and Hawkeye’s using him for target practice.” He waved over his shoulder, trying for flippant. “He was referring to a song—“

“The one you were singing just now?”

Tony jerked around hard enough to give himself whiplash. “How much did you hear?” he asked, not hoping for a lot and expecting even less.

Steve was fighting back a grin and failing. “I might’ve been standing there for a few minutes.” Tony groaned and hid his face in his hands. “JARVIS let me in and it didn’t seem fair to interrupt your fun.”

“Traitors,” he muttered into his palms. “I’m surrounded by traitors and liars and you’re all getting repurposed into furniture.” Tony peeked out from behind his fingers and levelled a half-hearted glare at Steve, who was biting his lip to hold back his snickers. “You can’t tell _anyone_. I have a reputation to uphold. A reputation as someone who doesn’t dance with his robots while singing pop songs.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, don’t worry,” Steve said, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. There was a pause as he waited for Tony to lower his hands. “On one condition.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Of course there is, you blackmailer.”

“Tell me why you were calling me,” he said quietly. “Not just now, earlier.”

Tony opened his mouth, the lie already sitting on his tongue and only waiting to be spoken, but something about the look on Steve’s face stopped him short. He shut his mouth again with a loud click, and hoped his own face didn’t betray him so obviously as he began debating in his head what he should say, how much of the truth he could get away with not saying.

“We – our last conversation didn’t end so great,” Tony said, looking away.

“Yeah,” Steve said, and the awkward silence was back, and _worse_ , because Tony couldn’t even look him in the eye this time. He heard Steve scuff his boots against the concrete, and remembered that he’d just spent three days working his ass off trying to keep innocent men from getting killed in the line of duty, and hadn’t even dropped off his bag before coming down because he thought there’d been an emergency. Tony wondered what JARVIS had told him.

“You should—“

“I wanted—“

Tony snorted and waved at Steve to continue, who rolled his eyes with a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes though, and he rubbed the back of his neck in an obvious nervous gesture. “I was just trying to say that I’m sorry. What I said before, about your relationships, it was uncalled for. I had no right, I – I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Tony stared at Steve’s boots and tried to think of something to say that didn’t sound cynical. “Well, you weren’t wrong,” he said eventually.

“It’s still none of my business.”

Tony laughed, cold and bitter, and gave Steve a deeply unimpressed look. “Only you would think something that made national news was none of your business.”

Steve made a choked noise and opened his mouth, before pressing his lips together in a tight, bloodless line. He wanted to know but he wouldn’t let himself ask; Tony couldn’t tell if he thought that was really sweet or stupid. It _irritated_ him, and made him want to do something reckless.

“My first girlfriend stole secrets from SI and used them to found her own company,” Tony said, before he could think better of it. “I was seventeen and really messed up. Howard and Mom were, they’d just died, and I was left with a company I didn’t really want or know what to do with. I only had the one friend, so I guess I was just grateful for the attention. The break-in nearly killed the company, our stocks plummeted right into the ground, and it was pretty easy to blame the new kid in charge. I never told anyone, but the board decided it was my fault anyway as a direct result of my incompetence, wait no, _inexperience_. They put Obie in charge after that.”

Steve made no move to speak, only looked at him with an expression devoid of judgement or pity but somehow still sad. It hurt to think of something that earnest being directed at the stupid, fucked-up little kid he’d been.

“Then, much later, I met Rumiko at a business thing, and she was amazing. I’ve never met anyone before or since who knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. We dated for years and I thought I was going to marry her, even though I’d known for most of that time that she’d been cheating on me.” He rubbed at the edge of his goatee hard enough to hurt and shrugged. “Ru wanted to be the centre of someone’s universe and I was too busy building bombs to give her that, so she went looking elsewhere.” He smiled, an ugly little twist of his lips. “I saw her at a function with her fiancé not long ago. She looked happy. I’m glad.”

“Tony--”

“And you know about Pepper,” Tony said, talking right over Steve. He was determined to finish what he’d started, even if it hurt. “She left because she hates Iron Man, hates seeing me get thrown around on a weekly basis and coming back held together by nothing but a couple of stitches and sheer fucking determination. It was always going to come down to her or the suit.” Tony barked a laugh. “And I don’t even know which I would’ve chosen because she made that decision for me.”

“Tony, none of that was your fault,” Steve said.

“But?” Tony prompted when Steve had been quiet a breath too long. He knew his shoulders were hunched up around his ears, bracing for the blow, but Tony refused to be surprised. Everyone knew it was his fault his relationships hadn’t lasted, from the tabloids to his SHIELD file to the sad look Pepper gave him when she said she was leaving. Whatever Steve had to say, it’d be nothing he hadn’t heard before.

Steve stared right back at him, broad shoulders back and square jaw set. “I know what I said.”

Tony snorted and looked away again. “Don’t be ridiculous, Steve, of course it was my fault. The common factor in all those relationships was me, it only makes sense that I’m the one to blame.” He paused for a moment, and spoke quietly. “Sorta wish the only problem I had _was_ not being careful.”

“Dammit, Tony,” Steve said through gritted teeth. He blew out an exasperated breath and dragged a hand through his hair, and Tony watched him with a dull sort of resignation. “I wish I hadn’t said that, or said it better.”

Tony shrugged.

“It just – I don’t get it, alright?” he said, and that confused little wrinkle between his eyes appeared again. Tony would never admit that it was that wrinkle, and how young and lost and _alone_ it made Steve look, that made him want to try and be friends with him. “You’re a good person, Tony. You’re smart, and funny, and charming like you wouldn’t believe. You enter a room and everyone knows it, because you fill it -- it’s always brighter when you’re there and people find themselves getting pulled in by it and not minding.”

He ducked his head and looked up at Tony through his lashes, suddenly shy. “I didn’t mind at least, because you’re also kind, and patient, and generous -- with everything -- your time, your money, your _health_. That self-sacrificing streak is going to get you killed one day, because you’re the only one who thinks you’re not good enough and that kills me inside.”

Steve rubbed at his neck, his mouth twitching like he was trying to smile and could only manage that sardonic little quirk at the corners. “I guess I just don’t understand why a guy like you doesn’t have a great dame – woman – I mean, s-someone who gets you. Who doesn’t care about the money, who doesn’t – who understands _Iron Man_ and _you_ and why you—“ He paused, biting at his lip. “I – I think that’s what I was trying to say, the other day.”

His eyelids fluttered as he sighed tiredly. “Or maybe I’m being old-fashioned again and nobody finds the right person, and I’m naïve to think they ever did.”

Tony opened and closed his mouth a few times – he hadn’t been prepared for _that_ , or how it made his heart clench. Luckily for him, having no idea what to say had never stopped him before. “I’m bi.” Off-topic and unimportant, but Tony still considered it a victory when that _look_ left Steve’s face, replaced by open confusion.

It was probably for the best that Steve’s dockets on the future hadn’t covered this, as who knows how Fury – or whatever lowly peon he delegated the task to – would’ve explained something like sexuality. They could hardly be trusted with something _simple_ , like last week when Steve had come to him, tentative and excited, and had asked how the hell New York had fresh oranges this time of year.

“I’m bisexual, which means I’m attracted to both men and women.” Tony felt his lips start to curl into the beginnings of smirk. “And for the record, it’s not very polite to assume that _anyone_ is straight.”

“Oh,” Steve said, looking caught off guard for a moment but recovering enough to give Tony his Captain America face, the one that practically radiated sincerity. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I’ll try to do better.” In the next moment he was Steve again, staring at his boots and fidgeting awkwardly.  “I can’t seem to say anything right to you.”

“That—“ Tony licked his lips, aware that he had to tread carefully and that it’d never been his strong suite. “That was a lot of good right there, Steve, aside from that part. Uh, thank you?” He took a deep breath. “Thank you for the -- everything, but also for having that kinda faith in me, even if I think it’s more than a little misplaced. And thanks for believing what you say, because I know you, you wouldn’t say it otherwise. Not even to spare my feelings, and I -- you have no idea how much I hate platitudes.”

“I can guess,” Steve said wryly.

“And it’s not naïve to think there’s someone out there who’s perfect for you, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” Tony added fiercely, feeling the emotion rise in his throat and press against his ribs. “Alright? Don’t you dare take my experiences as some sort of standard because I am the _worst_. For anything. _Ever_.”

“You’re not so bad, Tony,” Steve said, smiling small and sincere.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Right, sure. What’s that saying? ‘A good man is hard to find’?”

“’Everything is getting terrible’,” Steve replied with a straight face, throwing Tony off for a moment. He squinted at Steve, and saw the way the corner of his mouth began to twitch, betraying him.

“Was that a reference?” Tony said, and Steve’s smile broke free, stealing across his face and making his eyes shine. Tony punched him in the shoulder. “You _nerd_. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just acted confused as an excuse to hang out with – the team.”

“Not just the team,” Steve said, like he knew what Tony had stumbled over saying. “And it’s not an act – usually. I mean, I do it when you’ve been down here too long, but I’d do it anyway. You’re my friend, Tony, I like spending time with you.”

“Then you don’t have to invent excuses to hang out,” Tony said, huffing a laugh. “Christ, Rogers, my ego isn’t so fragile that I won’t watch music videos on Youtube without being made to feel smarter than you. I’m not that much of an asshole.”

Steve cringed and rubbed at his neck again. “That’s not why. I was – I was afraid you’d think I had some ulterior motive otherwise.” Tony didn’t know what his face did at that moment, but Steve looked suitably chastened. “You have a habit of overthinking things, and then I didn’t know how else to ask. Sorry.”

“Stop apologising, you’re going to give me a complex,” Tony said absently, his hand coming up to tap against his arc reactor. He was coming to several realisations – the most important one being that Steve liked him. _Really_ liked him, if the blush that started to make its way across his face was anything to go by, but that might have been because Tony was staring at him.

The second most important realisation was that Tony liked him _back_ – he was pretty sure, at least, since the thorough examination he gave his feelings produced nothing but a warm sensation and the desire to do something stupid. He gave his feelings a final poke for good measure, and OK. He could work with this. There was nobody there but the robots and JARVIS to see him fail, and Steve wouldn’t--

“Steven,” Tony said, doing his best to sound serious, and Steve snapped into parade rest almost like it was instinctual. “I'm thinking that, _maybe_ , you might think I'm crazy. Is that why you won't call me?”

“Tony--?” Steve’s face did something weird, like he didn’t know if he should laugh but wanted to.

“Steve,” Tony breathed, pushing off the workbench and right into Steve’s space. There was a moment, before Steve could do anything more than a startle, where Tony felt a bright spark of panic race down his spine and make him shiver. Then Steve leaned in so they were more or less pressed against each other, which Tony took as an invitation to continue.

“Don't you think I'm pretty?” he said with a smirk, fluttering his eyelashes ridiculously, but Steve snorted with a fond smile so Tony didn’t feel too bad. “Do you not love me?”

“You’re impossible,” Steve said, addressing Tony’s lips. He said it like an endearment, and Tony pulled him closer still by his shirt collar so they really were pressed together, from chest to knees.

“Shut up and kiss me, Rogers.”

It was awkward at first, the angle wasn’t right -- Steve’s too tall and they’re standing too close – but then Tony’s fingers slide into Steve’s hair, and Steve’s hands find their way to Tony’s hips, and something _clicks_. Tony might’ve groaned a little at how perfect it was, and then he might have bitten Steve’s lip in retaliation for smirking. “Jerk,” he muttered, soothing it with his tongue and moaning louder when Steve’s tongue flicked out to meet his.

Steve broke off the kiss, and Tony would’ve complained if he hadn’t seemed determined to find all the sensitive spots on his neck, and to wring more embarrassing noises from him. “Do you want me to stop?” Steve asked, so close his lips brushed against the skin beneath Tony’s ear, which he’d been abusing with his teeth and tongue.

“Nope,” Tony said, tilting his head so Steve had better access. He was rewarded when Steve sucked a kiss into his pulse point. “Oh God, ah—“ He tried to think of something clever to say but Tony completely lost his train of thought when Steve nuzzled into where his neck met shoulder, before gently biting down. “I, uh—“

“Yes, Tony?” Steve said, licking up his neck to speak into his ear again, which was just _unfair_. “What is it?”

“Don’t look up the music video.” Tony could have kicked himself, especially when Steve stopped, presumably so that he could realise that Tony was a dysfunctional idiot.

“What?”

He could feel his face going red, only adding to his mortification, and he ducked his head in the hope that Steve wouldn’t notice. “Kesha kidnaps Stephen, duct tapes some of his hair to a doll, and then cries in the bathtub when he escapes before making her own Stephen out of a mannequin.” Tony couldn’t decide if saying it out loud made him sound more or less stupid. “I just, I didn’t want to give you the wrong impression.”

Steve was quiet – Tony couldn’t guess what his reaction would be, until he felt him start to shake. Tony glanced up, still blushing what had to be an impressive shade of red, and that was obviously the last straw as Steve started snorting and giggling uncontrollably. He tried to speak, but quickly gave up as he couldn’t get anything out around his laughter. Tony was fascinated watching as Steve got caught up in his laughing fit, rapidly going red in the face and squeezing his eyes shut; he laughed like very few people did, like he had nothing to hide, and it was infectious.

“I’m serious, you know,” Tony said, snickering. “She takes a _bite_ out of his _hair_! I wanted to be clear that it’s something I’m just not into, before--” Tony couldn’t even finish his sentence as Steve cracked up even worse, and the pair of them were soon howling with laughter.

They eventually calmed down, still clinging to each other as they giggled breathlessly, and Steve curled a hand around Tony’s neck, pulling him closer to rest his forehead against Tony’s. “I take it back,” he said, eyes bright. “You really are the _worst_.”

Tony bumped their noses together, still grinning so hard his face hurt. “You like it.”

“I do,” Steve said, utterly sincere, and what could Tony do but kiss him? So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to get this out sooner, sorry. In my defense, I also thought it'd be a lot shorter. I also apologise for any mistakes, but I have been staring at this thing for two months and I need to post it before I give up and delete it.


End file.
